


The king must have sailors, to the seas he must go

by chiaroscuroxxi



Series: War Games [1]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-06-05 09:13:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6698890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chiaroscuroxxi/pseuds/chiaroscuroxxi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A man in a royal blue quilted jacket of the navy, white egg shaped helmet tucked under his arm delivered the news of his father’s death. “For your father’s service,” the man had said gravely, holding out a medallion of pink enamel and roped gold. “He served the ‘fleet bravely.” And without his father’s income, without the prestige of being part of an elite ‘fleet troop, Eggsy and his mum had descended from the comfortable middling levels of the 100s to the 31st.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The king must have sailors, to the seas he must go

London used to have a king. That was one of the last things Eggsy learned in school before he stopped going. London used to have a lot of things he supposed as he swung from level 37 to level 36 –eschewing the use of a lift but instead grabbing at handholds in the crumbling facades and window sills, their openings long since enclosed. 

Sunlight for one, he mused squinting into the permeant murkiness that shrouded the lower levels. The walkway on which he stood was one of the millions connecting the towers together. His mate claimed he knew a guy who walked all the way ‘round the world by way of the connecting bridges. “What did he see?” Eggsy had asked. “Level 25!” his friend had replied with a drunken laugh. 

Eggsy didn’t plan on staying on one level for the rest of his life. He planned to go up. 

The upper levels was were the sunlight was. The posh building the towers ever higher to catch the few rays that pierced the smoggy atmosphere. And consequently forcing the less privileged into deeper darkness. Eggsy had seen the sunlight once. His father had taken him on his patrol, Eggsy clinging to his back as his father jogged along at the back of his troop. They had gone so high that Eggsy had grown dizzy and his dad put his white shiny helmet designed for the high altitudes of the upper levels on Eggsy’s own head. “You look like an egghead,” he had laughed, “My Eggsy.” 

The nickname had stuck around. His father hadn’t. 

A man in a royal blue quilted jacket of the navy, white egg shaped helmet tucked under his arm delivered the news of his father’s death. “For your father’s service,” the man had said gravely, holding out a medallion of pink enamel and roped gold. “He served the ‘fleet bravely.” And without his father’s income, without the prestige of being part of an elite ‘fleet troop, Eggsy and his mum had descended the levels from the comfortable middling levels of the 100s to the 31st. 

Eggsy quickly learned that scaling the exterior of towers and bridge jumping was a better way to transcend levels then the lifts. The lifts restricted access. To protect the upper levels against the chavs of the lower levels. He had spent his afternoon loitering on the 60s looking for fabric scraps so his little sister would have new materials for her doll and was now descending again to join his mates for a drink. 

Ryan worked on the lowest levels in the ‘cinerators. All that trash, waste, unsavory things of millions of people living on top of one another eventually filtered down to very bottom where eternally lit fires burned the waste away. It was a disgusting, disrespected job but it paid well. Ryan didn’t like to talk about it. 

Jamal helped out in his mother’s bodega on the 28th. Mostly moving grossly overpriced product from the middle levels down. 

Eggsy continued his carefree ways, nicking things from upper levels, playing tricks on the protectors, and generally avoiding his step father who ran the local impressment gang. 

No such luck today, he thought stepping into the Black Prince – noted for its ancient wooden sign set sloppily into the concrete wall “est. 2014”. Several members of Dean’s gang littered the establishment and looked up interested when Eggsy rolled in. There weren’t enough of them that Eggsy was worried about getting pressed into the ‘fleet that night. Especially with his mates propped up against the scratched and scuffed chrome bar.  
“Bruv,” he greeted them solemnly. 

“Bruv,” they nodded back. 

On the wall behind the bar, partially obscured by half empty liquor bottles and scummy glasses, a holo was running of the latest navel triumph. They were honoring some ‘fleet admiral for another alien race successfully brought under humanity’s heel, another planet in the process of terraforming, and the word banner at the top ran the story of how soon the pilgrimage queues will open and you and your family will have a chance on an exodus ship, a chance at working the land, at living under sunlight. 

“Might join the que this time,” Ryan mused. 

“Aw shit bruv,” Jamel whinged, “You know that they give those spots to the posh and the middles. Us chavs just stand in line for a few weeks then we go home with nothing but the burn of liftoff fuel in our noses. And when we get home we gots no job cuz we’ve been standing in line instead of working.” 

“Shut your fucking mouth,” Ryan groused, “a guy can dream eh?” 

Eggsy ignored them both as they dissolved into bickering. His attention was caught by the triumphal march. Happening in Central Park one of the last green spaces on Earth, lifted over 200 levels so that weak light could dapple the palm trees that lined a wide gravel path. The admiral stood in a hover chariot, his stern face strangely familiar. What was even more familiar was the pink enameled and gold braided metal that hung over his heart. Eggsy used to have one just like it. It had hung on some wire around his neck and thumped against his heart as he ran from some pressers down on the 15th. One presser, swift for his burly size, had gotten close. The man had grabbed the swinging metal instead of the boy and in with a burst of adrenaline fueled energy, Eggsy had ripped away. 

Eggsy rubbed the back of his neck, fingers playing over the thin scar the wire had left when it nearly garroted him. “I’m going to nick that,” he said suddenly. 

His mates looked at him, stunned silent. 

“Nick what exactly?” Ryan asked carefully. 

“That.” Eggsy gestured at the holo with a sloshing beer glass. 

“A hover chariot?” Jamel asked excitedly.

“An admiral?” Ryan asked incredulously.

Eggsy gave them both a sly smirk, “Naw bruvs. Not the admiral. The admiral’s medals.” 

His mates looked at him, stunned silent. 

“Listen. Listen to me. Them posh, them ‘fleet elite, they get it all. They get the best levels, the first stops on the exodus ships, sunlight. Lets take something for ourselves,” Eggsy explained in a hushed excited whisper. He left out the fact that he wanted a certain medal for himself. The only connection he had to his late father. 

“Yous crazy bruv,” Jamel declared. 

“Naw bruv. This is it. I nick this, then I go straight. Get myself a job, get my sister up a few levels.” 

His mates nodded in solidarity. 

“What you threes doing ‘round here?” a loud voice interrupted them. Eggsy turned in dread to face Dean’s lieutenant. “You’d be a better use to society as grease monkeys me thinks.” 

Eggsy was in doubt that his time was up. Dean had had enough of him and had sent his gang to press him into the ‘fleet. Grease monkeys worked in the belly of the ships, oiling the gears and handling the nuclear fluid that powered them through the stars. Most grease monkeys didn’t last the voyage. He always knew it was impressment for him, but Eggsy wasn’t going out without a bang. He had a medal to steal after all. 

“Hey Rottie,” he called, “I always wondered, hows the view from there?”

Rottie stopped and looked confused. “The view from where?”

“Up Dean’s ass!”

Rottie growled and stepped forward, the other pressers standing to join him. Eggsy laughed and ducked under his out stretched arms, bolting for the door. “That asswipe laughed in my face. After him!” And then Eggsy had a full presser gang at his heels. 

Eggsy jumped the gloomy gap between a narrow footbridge and a larger one. Working his way up levels. He raced through market arcades and apartments, weaving and climbing until he was sure he had lost them. He stopped for his breath on 102nd and then causally joined the flow of nightlife of the middles. He swiped a lift pass off a posh who was slumming it for the night and took the lift up a few levels to give his shaking arms a break. He got off at 188th before the kid could notify the protectors and shut down the lift and trapping Eggsy. 

He had to travel sideways for awhile anyways to get to the capital core. Eggsy was tempted to detour to Central Park where hours before the triumph had taken place but the risks of getting caught there out weighted the desire to touch a tree. Beyond Central Park rose Ambassador Tower. It was illegal to build higher than 200 levels within 500 meters of Ambassador Tower so that the upper levels could have uninterrupted access to sunlight. Eggsy stood on a bridge and gazed across the tree tops (where leaves supposed to be brown? He had heard trees were supposed to be green) to Ambassador Tower. Only the cream of the crop were allowed in. There was no doubt that was where Eggsy would find the admiral. He was a bit disappointed that it was night and he missed his last chance to see sunlight, but the darkness suited his eyes better.  
By the time Eggsy had made it to the Tower even 200th was deserted at that time of night. Even better. The colorful decorative façade of the Tower made climbing it easy. He remember his mum gushing about its Art Deco design one night. Whatever the fuck that meant. But the earlier climb from the lowers had tired him out and his grip slipped. 

“Fuck!” Eggsy hissed, the toe of his sneaker banging into a window. A window which swung cleanly and quietly opening. “What the fuck,” Eggsy whispered in awe. He had never seen a window open before. The temptation was too great. With a gentle swing, he ducked inside the Tower. 

He didn’t know who was more startled, himself or the enlisted ‘fleeter who was sneaking a cigarette out the cracked window. The other man gapped at him, ciggy hanging out his open mouth.

“Wot?” Eggsy asked irritably, “You ain’t never seen a chav before?” And socked him the kisser. The boy toppled over backwards while Eggsy shook his hand out with a curse. He quickly stripped the boy of his uniform, quilted like a navy ‘fleeter but with chevrons on the shoulder. Whatever the fuck that meant. It was tight around the thighs and biceps but overall a decent fit. 

“Thanks mate,” he told the unconscious boy, now gagged with his shirt and tied up with Eggsy’s shabby vinyl belt. Eggsy had been reluctant to lose his trainers but luckily the boy was long enough in the leg to hide the wings. There was no helping the color, the scuffed white was a far cry from the posh polished dress shoes still on the ‘fleeter’s feet. Still Eggsy thought he looked good enough to fit in when he cautiously stepped out into the carpeted hall. 

It was deserted and Eggsy quickly searched for the nearest lift. That admiral guv must be at the top. Eggsy swiped the ‘fleeter’s lift pass and punched the top level in. Amazingly the ‘fleeter seemed to have access to the top. Not just an enlisted then. Eggsy regarded the three chevrons on his shoulder with new trepidation. How far up the chain was this bruv? 

The lift slowed then stopped three floors off the top. No no no no. Eggsy was in for it. He had forgotten his first rule: never get trapped in a lift.  
The door slide open to reveal a tall man in admiral’s whites, his bald head shining in the false florescent light. “Are you the new aide-de-camp?” he demanded in an accent Eggsy had never heard before. 

Eggsy stared. “Admiral’s Hart new aide-de-camp?” the tall man prompted impatiently. “You were supposed be here hours ago. Where the fuck have you been?”

Eggsy cleared his throat nervously. “Yes sir.” Whatever a fucking aide-de-camp was. 

The man looked up from his clipboard, eyes narrowing as he scanned him up and down. Eggsy’s heart near about pounded out of his chest. He was caught. He was done for. “Out of uniform,” he said, pointing at Eggsy’s shoes. “I’ll let it go this once since the Admiral is in a fickle mood and demanded a new aide-de-camp at three in the morning. But if it happens again you will be spaced. Do I make myself clear?” 

Eggsy’s throat had closed up. He nodded vigorously instead. 

The man just hummed low in the back of throat, gave Eggsy one more scorching look then joined him in the lift, pressing to panel to resume.  
The top level. It was even more lavishly appointed then the level three below where Eggsy had met the ‘fleeter’s boss? Superior officer? 

Holy shit. The room the lift opened to was only a foyer. The tall man threw open a set of double wood – wood! – doors which crashed appropriately dramatic against the walls. The walls which gave a near 360 view of outside view unobstructed for 500 yards. 

Eggsy was so distracted he didn’t immediately notice the handsome man sprawled on the settee. That is until the tall man addressed him, “I finally found your way ward aide-de-camp. Please refrain from sending me on wild goose chases in the future. It’s undignified.” 

“Yes thank you Merlin,” the man drawled in a posh voice. He was still in his dress whites, the heavy jacket opened across his chest in the only concession to comfort. He lifted his head slightly from the arm of the sofa to take in Eggsy. 

Brown eyes met green and Eggsy was six years old again and a ‘fleeter was telling him his father had died. The blood drained from his face. Admiral Hart smirked. “You are no 'fleeter,” he declared. Eggsy bolted for the lift. Merlin startled and chased him, using his much larger body to slam Eggsy into the lift door. Eggsy struggled but Merlin easily carried him back to the admiral like a dog carries a puppy by its scruff. “Shall I call for someone to take care of this imposter?” he addressed the admiral. 

“No need,” he waved him off, sitting upright and crossing one long leg over another elegantly. He gazed down at Eggsy who had been dropped at Merlin’s feet. “You’re here for this I suppose.” The admiral mused brushing his fingers over the medals still clipped to his jacket.  
Eggsy stared up at him defiantly. “Yeah guv. So what if I am. That was my father’s.” 

Admiral Hart laughed again. “I like you boy. I’m going to keep you.” 

“You’re going to keep a chav as your aide-de-camp?” Merlin asked in disbelief. “He didn’t go to the academy, he’s never been offworld, he’s probably never seen sunlight!”

“Oi!” Eggsy protested, climbing to his feet, “I’ve seen sunlight. And I ain’t asking for a job, I’m just asking for my medal back.” 

“I’ll make you a deal, “Admiral Hart spoke, “You work for me for, lets say, a year and a day. And if you satisfy I will give your medal back. After all it was mine before it was yours.” 

Eggsy crossed his arms across his chest. “This ain’t a fairy tale guv.” 

“I should think not. This is war,” the admiral returned, eyes suddenly serious, “And I am in need of a good, steadfast aide-de-camp. Besides,” He suddenly grinned, “this will seriously piss off our Arthur, Chester King.” 

Eggsy was stunned. The top fleet admiral was offering him a job and joking about pissing off the most powerful man on Earth and Beyond. What was his life. But this was a chance to better if not his life, than his sister. 

“Fine,” he capitulated, “But I’ve got demands.” Merlin scoffed but the admiral waved a hand for him to go on. “I’ve got a sister on the 31st I want a place for her in the 100s at least. And rehab for my mother.” He paused. 

“That’s it?” the admiral inquired, raising an eyebrow in surprise.

“I keep the shoes as part of my uniform,” Eggsy said gesturing at the trainers, the wings now exposed when his pants had rode up in his earlier struggles. 

“Done,” Admiral Hart agreed holding out his hand. 

“A year and a day,” Eggsy agreed shaking the large warm hand and ignoring the shiver the swept down his spine.

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from an old impressment song "All things are quite silent"
> 
> Edited slightly to reflect the next installation.


End file.
